Extensions of me

The snort...the nervous laugh...the delay, and then slowly, the response: "You Blog?" And then, that damn nervous laugh again, time stops, and slowly...each letter comes out like a pulled tooth, painfully, agonizingly, a giant feat in just forming the words I know are coming: "W-H-Y? What are you hoping to get from it anyway?"

I write because it is who I am.

I write as an extension of myself.

As some people play instruments, fish, golf, read, jog, sing, play cards, camp, travel, shop, paint...whatever, it makes them whole, it makes them who they are.

And I write. Publicly, privately...there are things I want to put out there, just for the sake of putting them out there, out into the void, whether or not anybody ever reads anything I have to say. There are some thoughts so personal, some things I haven't shared yet; the beginnings of novels, articles, poems, words, phrases, etc... Writing, words, makes me connect to everything, to anything. It solidifies who I am and what I want to be.

I may never have what it takes to publish anything. But I do know this, I certainly won't do anything successfully without a little practice.

I write because I can. When everything is good, when everything is bad, when I don't know whether things are good or bad--I write. I try different things out, different styles, different formats, different emotions.

I write and I'll keep on writing.

Because it is in my soul, it is who I was meant to be.